Random thoughts from a carpetbagger living in the Great Republic of Texas

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Postcard from Las Vegas

St. Pauli Girl and I just got back from Las Vegas on our first vacation in two years. Since I don’t get out much, I will probably write the next 50 or 60 blogs about this trip.

We love Vegas and have been going off and on for the past ten years. When you are there, it really feels like you’ve stepped out of reality for a few days (for example, you look in your wallet and swear there was $100 in it an hour before). Another appeal is that you get to see the full spectrum of humanity on display, from Bible-thumping street preachers, to Bubbas toting coolers packed with Coors Lite, to old rich people who’ve had so much plastic surgery they look like wax museum wannabes.

One of my conversations with St. Pauli Girl about that:

Me: Why do all these old men look so gay?

Her: They’re not gay. They’re rich and can afford plastic surgery, good hairpieces, and bi-weekly manicures and pedicures.

Me: Oh…. So, all rich people are gay?

So here are just a few notes and observations from our latest trip:

 If you are sitting in row 18 of the airplane and people in row 12 can hear your regular conversation, you are talking too loud. After having to get up at 4:00 a.m. to catch our flight, I could not sleep the entire trip because of the two loud talking ladies behind me. The nine-month-old baby across the aisle behaved better. I learned from Loud Lady #1 that her first love died mysteriously, her second love started out as just a friend knocked her up, she dumped him, kept the baby and now she hopes to retire to someplace like Argentina where the government won’t bother her as much. And she likes to drink screwdrivers. Four at a time. Don’t cry for her, Argentina.

 Friendly travel tip: there is no need to line up in front of the jetway 30 minutes before your flight. You either already have an assigned seat or, if it’s Southwest, you have an assigned place in line. I’ve never actually seen an airline close the door and declare the plane full before everyone with assigned seats boarded anyway. But what do I know? I don’t travel much these days.

 Not only should you not gamble what you cannot afford to lose, you should also act like you can afford to lose it. Case in point: a rich-looking old guy with slicked back shoulder length grey hair and expensive shirt was strutting between blackjack tables with a stack of green chips ($25) in his hand. Whenever he saw an opening at a $5 table, he’d place a single $25 bet. He did it at our table where he promptly lost, screamed at one of the players for making a “wrong” play, and stomped off.

A. He obviously wasn’t as rich as he wanted us to believe.

B. He had no right to berate other players for being stupid; he was the stupid one for making a stupid bet he couldn’t afford to lose, because if he really wanted to win money, he would learn how to play properly.

 Restroom Etiquette.

A. I believe cell phones should have a mechanism that electrocutes anyone using a cell phone in the restroom unless your name is Lyndon Johnson. There is probably .00000001% of the population that is important enough to be using a cell phone in the restroom. And probably none of them are in Las Vegas restrooms. At the very least, if you don’t get electrocuted, whoever you are talking to should either divorce you, defriend you, demand their money back, or fire you. Or set you on fire.

B. Zip up before leaving the urinal. No one wants to see you adjusting yourself or even just tucking in your shirt with your fly hanging open. And it’s ten times worse if you’re doing that while talking on a cell phone.

And finally: why I love Las Vegas. This incident actually occurred on a previous trip. I was sitting a bar playing video poker while watching sports highlights on the tv. Two little old ladies, probably in their 70’s, one with a walker, shuffled up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, young man,” said one lady. “Did you happen to see if the Boston Bruins won?”

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About Me

I live in a small town in Texas. I am the real America. I wasn't born in the republic which means I'm not really Texan. I do have a pickup truck but since it's a Nissan, I'm still not considered Texan. I only drive it when no one is looking. I'm a man without a country and a man without a car. I'm an entrepreneur but not a good one as I recently had to close down the family restaurant. But that makes me an economic expert. I can seriously blame the restaurant's closing on Obama, Cheney, NAFTA, Cash for Clunkers, TARP and even Bernie Madoff who never spent millions in my restaurant. Not even a dime.